Scars
by lauraamma
Summary: Elizabeth has always known she was different, ever since in high school. The scar on her wrist has been troubling her since her teen years. But what if there is someone out there, who has a matching scar similar to her own? A charming fugitive that is meant to be her soul mate, who has been waiting to meet her a very long time? Red/Liz as soul mates.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello, I'm new to fanfiction. I'm a fan of the Blacklist, and have been watching it obsessively ever since it started. I thought I would try to write my own story, with Red and Liz. This is a soul mate fic, I'm not sure how many of these are going around, but this is my attempt at the concept.**_

_**I own nothing involving the Blacklist. Just a fan doing this for enjoyment, that's all. I'm not sure if anyone will be interested in this, but it's been fun attempting to write something like this anyway. If you feel it's something I should continue writing, I would love to know.**_

* * *

_**Scars**_

Elizabeth always had the faintest dawning suspicion that she was different. So the hushed whispers about her around the school by her fellow classmates didn't bother her so much. In time, she had learned to ignore what the others kid were saying about her, or at least accept that the rumors and speculation would never stop. They all seemed to gossip about the story behind her scar, and how gross it was. It all started after fourth period gym class.

She was in the girl's locker room with other girls her age and a bit older, getting changed out of her sweaty gear after playing volleyball. All throughout the day, her scar on her hand had burned incessantly, and as she peeled off her tank top, she saw it had raised in a bumpy, red line along her palm, to the start of her wrist. Liz was surprised it wasn't bleeding, because the burning and stinging had grown intense over the forty-minute duration of gym class. She turned and caught one of her classmates, Helen, staring at the irritated mark curiously. The girl, with blond hair and brown eyes, looked worried.

"Ouch," she said softly, "That looks painful, Liz."

"Yeah, it is." Liz immediately felt self-conscious as she followed the blistered ugly line with her forefinger, so she pulled her long-sleeved, red shirt out of her bag and pulled it on over her head quickly.

"How did that happen?" Helen asked curiously, while she covered it with her sleeve.

Liz didn't even know the full answer to that herself, in how she came to get the horrible scar. Her father, Sam, had only told her once that there was a house fire when she was fourteen; A fire she couldn't remember. Feeling her face burning, Liz shrugged, flexing her fingers. "Apparently there was a fire at my house, when I was around fourteen. I got burned."

"Does it hurt much?"

"Sometimes, like now, it does." The burning came and went, there was no particular time or routine it happened. Liz wasn't sure what that meant, either, or if it was normal for minor burns. "But it isn't too bad."

"It looks like someone branded their initials on your skin?" Helen said, in disgust. "It looks pretty gruesome."

Something about what Helen said caught Liz's attention. She slid the fabric of her sleeve up over her forearm, scrutinizing her scar again carefully, tilting her wrist left to right. Helen was right; It did, in fact, look as if someone had branded their initials on her skin.

Liz had often tried to figure out what the scar was supposed to be, to little success. She used to pretend it was a puzzle, something fun to wonder over. But most of the time, it made her feel self-conscious about wearing short-sleeved clothing in school. No one else in school seemed to have scars or burn marks identical to hers.

"Hey," Helen spoke up again over her shoulder as she changed out of her sweat shorts, "One of the girl's are having a sleepover party this week. Your welcome to come along, if you want to?"

Liz hesitated, biting her bottom lip. Her dad, Sam, didn't really like her going to other people's houses. Liz didn't know if it was just part of his parnoid streak, or whether he was truly concerned something bad might happen to her. "Sure, but I'll have to ask my dad first."

"It's this Friday. She has a huge pool and everything, and her parent's are away at San Francisco for two days. She wants to invite some of the cutest boys over, too."

"Cool. I'll see what my dad thinks about it first, Hel. Then I'll get back to you."

"Well, I hope you can come. It'll be awesome. Lincoln's coming, too- he wants to hook up with you."

Lincoln was a boy a year older than Liz, who apparently had the hots for her- or, according to Helen, he did. Liz wasn't interested in him in the slightest, though she wasn't sure why. He was cute enough and seemed embarrassed around always went out of his way to talk to her in the corridors between lessons. A lot of the girl's her age were obsessed about hooking up with different boys, or having crushes, but Liz wasn't like that. It was another reason she felt so different and as if she didn't belong. It was hard to be popular or make friends when you knew even yourself, deep down inside, that there was something different about you that sets you apart from the rest of the students. But if Liz wanted to fit in, as everyone did, she would have to make sure she went along to the party and tried to socialize with everyone.

* * *

But as soon as she arrived at the party, she knew it was a mistake. Sam had assured her she looked beautiful in the jeans and high neckline tank top she was wearing, but she felt under-dressed in comparison to the number of girls at the party wearing short dresses and mini skirts. Loud electronic music was pumping around the house and she felt instantly relieved to find Helen, one of the girls she did know quite well from school, standing talking to two boys. She made a quick beeline towards her and smiled when Helen threw herself at her, hugging her tightly.

"Yay, Liz, you came!"

Her excitement was overwhelming. "Yeah, I did," Liz said weakly. "Dad agreed to let me come."

"Lincoln's over there, if you want to go flirt with him," Helen gushed, shoving her into his direction.

Lincoln saw Liz and waved friendly, but she still wasn't interested. Apparently most of the girl's had picked up on her reluctance with him, because the instance Helen dragged her along towards a group of girl's from in her grade, they pounced.

"Why aren't you interested in Lincoln?" One of the girl's asked her. "He's so hot!"

"Yeah, he's okay," Liz shrugged. "He's just... not my type." As soon as she said it, she knew she was in trouble.

"What's your type then?" One of the other girl's pried.

"I don't know. I kind of find myself liking older, mature gentleman."

Some of the girl's laughed, and Liz felt her cheeks flush with heat.

"How old, though?" Another girl asked. "You don't mean old, do you, as in Grandpa old?"

"No, not Grandpa old," she assured her weakly. "Just... mature."

"That's so weird." Helen laughed. "I can't believe you don't like Lincoln. You should try to hook up with him, at least? He's so dying to get with you!"

"Most of the boy's are down for getting with you. There's probably a huge line of guys. Why don't you hook up with at least one of them? Or are you a lesbian or something?"

"No, I... I'm not a lesbian. No way- I know I like guys. I just- I don't know."

"Oh, leave her alone," Helen said. "Liz just isn't like us. She wants to wait until that someone special comes along. Or have you already met him?"

Liz shrugged uncomfortably and fiddled with her sleeves.

"Have you already got someone?"

"Not really, no. I just... I know what I want. Lincoln isn't it." After a draining hour of awkward conversations, Liz found herself regretting coming along to the party. It would have been so more enjoyable staying at home with her dad, watching old reruns on television than having to pretend to be interested in what the girls wanted to talk about.

After a while, Helen said, "Hey, we're going to play this thing with an Ouija board. It can reveal your future to you. Wanna play?"

Since Liz didn't know what else to do, she nodded. "Sure. Sounds... interesting."

A group was forming around the coffee table. One of the girl's was carrying a smashed in box and grabbed a red plastic cup as another girl set out a long board on the table.

"Which boy will I hook up with next?" One of the girl's asked, and everybody- aside from Liz- laughed loudly at her stupid question.

A line formed as everyone took turns one at a time, asking silly questions about boys, and then when Liz's time turned up, she fell down on her knees at the coffee table and placed her fingers gently on the cup with Helen.

"What question do you want answered?" Helen asked.

"I don't know. I don't really believe in this stuff anyway. Ask whatever you want for me."

"Okay." Helen thought deeply for a moment, then made a loud noise over the music. "I know. What is the name of the guy that will be Liz's next boyfriend?"

Both touching the plastic cup very lightly, they waited to see if it would move. Then it did. It went slowly to an R. Sped up to an E, then to a D.

"Red," Helen breathed. "Who and what is Red?"

"I don't know."

"Well, anyway. Red is the guy that's going to be your boyfriend in the future. Do you know anyone called Red?"

"No. Maybe it's someone I haven't met yet?"

"Who the hell is Red?" One of the other girl's wondered loudly.

The cup moved again beneath their fingers, and Liz and Helen laughed nervously. S, O, U, L, M, A, T, E.

"Soul mate?" Liz moved her hands quickly away from the plastic and found her scar under her sleeve. She traced it with her forefinger and middle finger anxiously.

"Right, Liz. Apparently you have a soul mate, and his name is Red."

Everyone fell silent around the coffee table. Liz could tell everyone was freaked out by it. She was freaked out herself.

"Hel, were you pushing it?" she asked Helen fearfully. "Did you push it on purpose?"

"No, I didn't," Helen insisted, her voice quivering. "I swear, I didn't!"

"But who the hell is Red, then?"

"Maybe 'Red' is your soul mates nickname? I don't know. But the Ouija board must be right. It always is."

* * *

_(Ten Years Later)_

"Liz, move over here. I have something I want to ask you."

The nervous edge in Tom's tone caught her attention, and she turned from kneading the dough for the homemade pizza they were making to look at him. "What is it?" she asked suspiciously. "What do you have to ask me?"

He grinned at her shyly. "Just come over here and I'll tell you."

"Babe, you've really picked the worst timing. My hands are wrist deep in flour!"

"Just come over here to me. It's important. The dough can wait a second, where this can't."

"Fine." Turning, she wiped the flour off her hands with a tea towel before moving towards him. "This better be good."

Taking her hands in one of his, Tom reached inside the pocket of his jeans, while sliding down on the kitchen floor in front of her to his knees. She laughed, marring the moment.

"Tom, what are you doing?"

"Come on, Liz. I think you already know what I'm doing down here." Turning her hand over so that her palm was facing upwards, he sat a satin pouch in her hand. She tried to look blank and surprised as her scar itched. "This has been a long time coming. You probably already knew what I was planning anyway, but I... I wanted to get this right."

Tom looked up at her gravely through his glasses and Liz felt her heart pounding in her chest. She felt afraid and anxious, but she wasn't sure why. She knew this was probably coming somewhere around the corner herself and, now, here it was...

"Elizabeth Scott?"

"Yes, Thomas Keen?" Her voice was small and scared.

"We have been dating for around eight months now, and I know some might consider it early, but I already know what I want, and that's to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew the moment I met you that I wanted you to be my wife, my everything. Will you marry me?"

"Really? Your asking me to marry you? Right here and now, while we're in your apartment kitchen making homemade pizza and while I'm covered in flour?"

"Yes, I'm asking you to marry me, despite how unromantic the setting is, Liz. You know that I love you. So, what's your answer?"

Her scar started itching again and she flexed her hand and pulled it behind her back in an effort not to scratch it. "I think you already know my answer," she said nervously. "I fell for you like two days after I met you. I want to be your wife so... yes. My answer is a big resounding _yes_ to your question!"

As Tom grinned broadly and opened the satin pouch to show her the beautiful engagement ring he had brought her in advance for the proposal, Liz felt moisture gather in her eyes. As the tears slid down her cheeks while Tom pushed the band on her finger and got to his feet to hug her tightly, Liz questioned why it was that she was crying.

Was it out of genuine happiness or was it because of something else? Disappointment that, due to a childish game at a party, all that stuff about her apparent soul mate hadn't come true, and that she had been so foolish to wait and bide her time all along for this mysterious Red to appear into her life? Tom was the first man she had let herself be with. She had waited for over three years for this Red to materialize into her life and sweep her off her feet, only he hadn't. So she stopped waiting and gave up. She had waited long enough, and it didn't seem as if he was going to come along anytime soon. When her and Tom had started dating, she had given up all traces of hope and wishful thinking and had made herself accept that it was all make-believe. She had to start living her life like a normal person would.

She knew she loved Tom, but she wasn't _in love_ with him. Some stranger she hadn't even met eyes on had stolen her heart, ever since that party when she was sixteen. She had locked her heart away and waited, never letting anyone else in. But then she had to learn how to let go and move on, face the reality that there was probably no such man as the one she was waiting for.

She had just only been an impressionable, sixteen year old girl back then. She had enjoyed the idea of soul mates existing somewhere in the world, and she had a hope deep down inside that this supposed soul mate of hers would show up in her life. How wrong she was. There was no such thing as soul mates. There was no such person as this Red, he probably never even existed, for all she knew. She had been stupid all along to believe in such a childish notion.

Her teenage beliefs had been crushed completely.

* * *

(_Two years Later)_

Liz was running late for her first day. She couldn't believe that she had managed to sleep in on her first day, all thanks to their malfunctioning alarm clock. If it hadn't been for Hudson rudely awakening her by climbing up on the bed and licking her awake, she would have been more than just an hour late for her first day as an FBI Profiler.

She raced around the house, throwing on the cleanest clothes she had, ignoring Tom's voice in the background as he shouted reminders at her about a meeting to adopt a child. Turning up to work late on your first day wasn't a great sign, and she was annoyed that she had overslept.

When she pulled out of their house and locked the door up, she found Tom by the railings, watching her amusedly. "What?"

"We both just woke up seven minutes ago, I'm pretty sure my pants are on backwards, and I can barely see straight, but you are somehow dressed and completely composed, looking as beautiful as the day I first met you two years ago."

He was sucking up to her because of something, and Liz recognized that. She patted down her jacket and felt her pockets were empty. "Alright, so I'm forgetting something, aren't I? This is what it's all about, isn't it?"

"Yep, you are." He pulled out her FBI Laminate badge from behind his back. "Your missing this."

"Thank you. I knew there was something I was forgetting this morning."

"Yeah, well, whatever you do, don't forget our appointment, alright?"

"I know, and I won't forget. The adoption meeting at one-thirty today."

"What time?"

"One thirty, babe." Laughing, she hit him on the arm with her laminate. "One-thirty. Today's the day, it's finally happening. We're going to start a family, you and me. I'm not going to let this job come between us. We're going to start a family like we planned for the last... year and a half. It's happening for real."

"Yes, it is. It's happening, finally." Tom grinned and moved in to kiss her quickly. When their lips parted, he scrutinized her seriously. "I'm so proud of you, Liz. It's your first day. You've wanted this for years."

She beamed at him. "I know and thank you for being proud of me. It means a lot for me to hear that from you."

"Are you nervous?"

Liz made a face at him. "No," she lied. "Not at all. What I am, though, is... incredibly late so I better get going. Quit stalling me!"

She held her hand out to him and he took it, as they stepped down the stairs together. They were only just halfway down when suddenly a loud helicopter flew past them. Minivans screeched to a halt at the pavement by the front door, and a pain Liz hadn't felt in a long time radiated up her wrist again from the scar.

"Liz Keen?" A man with perfectly coiffed blond hair called, as he exited the minivan quickly. "I'm Donald Ressler from the Washington Field Office. I need you to come with me immediately."

She exchanged a bewildered look with Tom, then leaned in to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

"One-thirty, babe. I better go. I don't think I need that lift from you anymore."

* * *

The scar on Liz's wrist was pulsating dully as she was escorted by Donald Ressler into the FBI Headquarters. She sat in a comfortable chair in a man named Harold Cooper's office alone, fidgeting with her hands nervously. She had no idea what was happening. Not once did she plan her morning turning out this way.

It was supposed to be her first day. It was meant to be easy and yet, here she was, feeling absolutely petrified. Last time she checked, she hadn't committed any wrongdoings. She abided by the code of law. She was fresh out of Quantico Academy, after undergoing extensive training. Her breathing was shallow and unsteady and she began to feel light-headed by the time a man entered the office to speak with her. He was a handsome dark-skinned man, about in his early forties or more, dressed in a sharp, presentable suit and tie.

"Agent Keen," he said pleasantly, holding his hand out to her. "Is that right?"

She stood from the chair to shake his hand vigorously. "Yes, Sir. That's correct."

"I'm Harold Cooper. Assistant Director of Counterterrorism."

The name held some familiarity to her and she grew less nervous. "Yes, Sir, I know who you are, Sir. The name is familiar to me."

He sat down in the chair behind his desk, and Liz took it as her cue to sit as well.

A.D Harold Cooper cleared his throat and splayed his hands out to her, "So, uh, can you tell us what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you that I know, but I... I really don't. I don't understand. I've been vetted by the Agency like everyone else, same background checks, same profiles. As far as I know, I have done nothing wrong. In fact, this morning was supposed to be my first day. I'm really not so sure what's happening and why I was even called in the way I was."

"There was a man, Agent Keen. A known fugitive by the name of Raymond 'Red' Reddington. Just this morning, he surrendered himself into the FBI. He requested to speak only directly with you."

_Red..._

Her scar seared at the mere mention of the name, and Liz had to bite down on her lip roughly to cover the pure shock and surprise that probably crossed her features. Her childhood came back to her in an instant rush; Having a turn on the Ouija board, it spelling out the name 'Red' as some kind of soul mate to her. He_ did_ exist after all, and... apparently he was some highly sought-after fugitive who had turned himself in.

"Do you know why it is that he requests to speak solely to you, Agent Keen?"

"No," she insisted with quiet conviction, through the shock debilitating her. "Not at all. There is... no previous connections between us, not any that I'm aware of. I don't think I have even met the man before." Only just learned he was supposedly to be her soul mate, which was utter bullshit surely.

"Don't you find it a bit odd that Raymond Reddington surrendered himself in right on the day you were set to start working as a Profiler for us?"

"Sure, I do. But I also think it suggests that he was waiting for me."

"And why would he be waiting for you?"

_Because maybe the concept of soul mates isn't so cock-and-bull after all._ _She had spent years waiting for him, now he was waiting for her_. "I... I don't know, Sir. Maybe he assumes I'm an easy target, because I'm new? Someone that he can easily manipulate, which I assure you, is not the case. I can't be easily manipulated. I believe it comes with the territory of being an only child learning how to fend for herself in the world. The man clearly doesn't know who I am or the type of person I am at all."

The conversations in Harold Cooper's office resumed, where he asked her to profile herself, which Liz felt embarrassed to do. Apparently this Raymond Reddington had valuable information on a wanted and dangerous terrorist, by the name of Ranko Zamani- information he wouldn't willingly give over to the FBI unless Elizabeth and him were in cohorts. By the time the pair of them stood and he escorted her to where the area Reddington was being held at, she felt overwhelmed and exhausted. She still couldn't believe what had happened when she was sixteen. How could his name have come up on some Ouija board at a teen party? The entire situation was unbelievable.

Donald Ressler and Harold Cooper led her in one of the FBI minivans to a secure and private location she was unfamiliar with. Security guards were monitoring the perimeters at all corners and the entire building was on tight lock-down.

"What is this place?" she asked the pair of them apprehensively, as they sailed leisurely into what looked like an underground parking garage.

"This is the Metro P.D sorting facility, also known as the Post Office, for sentimental reasons. We run covert operations down here."

"Right. So this is a Blacksite?" Liz asked, as Harold held her door open to her once they found a parking position.

"No, we prefer to call it the Post Office," Ressler clarified stiffly, showing her in.

She followed the two men's leads, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Her scar was tingling as she tagged along with them into a secured area. As she looked around at the high-tech gadgets she followed the direction of where the two men were looking through a window.

Her heart immediately sank and her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes landed on him.

This was Raymond 'Red' Reddington.

The man who had requested to see and speak to only her, the man whose name came up on some Ouija board, as her supposed soul mate as a younger girl. All her expectations as a young, romantic girl back then were blown out of the window as his eyes opened and his gaze suddenly met hers. She felt fiery hot all over. He was being held and confined in some rectangular box that kept him away from the numerous guards outside surrounding him. He was chained and cuffed to a chair by the wrists and ankles.

To be the focus of his intense gaze was nerve-wracking. Never had Liz experienced such a horrifying and daunting thing before. The tight smile on her lips faltered as she held his gaze through the glass.

Cooper obviously sensed her unease, because he placed a hand gently on her elbow. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. We'll be right in here overlooking your exchange, so don't think you're stuck alone with him. Plus, the guards are surrounding him if action is a necessary measure." Liz had faith that it wouldn't be necessary, but she didn't tell Cooper of that.

Donald Ressler stepped across from her to open the door for her.

For a moment, she couldn't remember how to do something as simple as walking, but clenching her hands at her sides and steeling herself, she made that move out of the room and towards a flight of steps towards the ground where Raymond 'Red' Reddington was being held. The instance her foot joined the first step, the mechanical box he was being held in slid open and back, so that glass and air was no longer separating them. She gripped tightly onto the railing and took it slow, one step at a time down the stairs, frightened her legs would buckle and give way completely.

Breathing deeply through her nose, she made her way over towards the single chair ten inches away from where he was shackled. Keeping her eyes on his, she sat, crossed her legs, and joined her hands together, squelching them up against her kneecap to stop them from shaking so obviously.

When Raymond 'Red' Reddington saw that she was comfortably seated, he gave her a small smile, his eyes crinkling as he looked her up and down, appreciating what he saw. She let her eyes roam around him herself, getting accustomed with every part of him, familiarizing herself so he wouldn't appear so daunting, if possible. He was wearing a blue dress shirt, underneath a buttoned vest, and light charcoal grey trousers. The way he stared and smiled at her was, simply put, unnerving. It was as if those shining eyes of his could see straight through her.

When his lips parted and he started to speak, Liz's scar started with its annoying tingling again. "Ah, Agent Keen. What a pleasure."

His voice was soft and breathless, as if he himself had waited so long for a chance to finally meet her in the flesh and have her all alone to himself. On the surface, he seemed cultured and well-mannered; Articulate and well-dressed, like a gentleman. Exactly like the mature men she admired and crushed on as a girl in her teens. But since she had been informed of his record as one of the world's most wanted fugitives, it seemed you couldn't judge a book by its cover.

She couldn't help but wonder if he knew. _Did he know himself about what happened when she was sixteen?_ She couldn't understand it fully herself, nor make sense of it, even now.

Not trusting her voice just yet, she inhaled in a deep breath, before speaking softly, "Well... I'm here."

"Yes, you are. You're here at last."

Deliberately averting his gaze over the tender warmth in his voice, she let her eyes swoop around the guards surrounding them. She couldn't help but notice the double-entendre of his words. _Has he been waiting for her all along, too? What a strange coincidence it had been- his nickname coming up on an Ouija board as a child. _She let herself only think of it as that- an odd coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.

She shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts. "I've been told you have some information you want to give me? Valuable information about a man named Ranko Zamani. So let's hear it." Liz was pleased her voice remained steady and calm. "After all, that's why I'm here, isn't it?"

His eyes narrowed down to her hands that were clasped around her left kneecap as his head tilted to the side slightly. The muscle under his left eye spasmed. "May I see it first before we start?"

Liz's body tensed, as she followed his gaze down to her tightly-wound fingers. "See what?"

"The scar on your palm. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. Think of it as a trade-off, of sorts."

**This is my first fanfiction, so please do be kind. Is it something you would like more of? Or is the entire concept a bit... silly? I will try to update weekly or as soon as I can.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy this one.**_

* * *

_"The scar on your palm. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. Think of it as a trade-off, of sorts..."_

Liz was caught off guard by his peculiar request and wondered if he could tell she was growing less and less comfortable in the man's presence by every second that passed. Although he was heavily shackled to a chair, with no chance of escaping or getting near her, still it didn't offer her much comfort. She felt like a rabbit in a lion's den, with nowhere to hide.

She leaned back in the chair and looked around them. Behind her shoulder, she could see Cooper and Ressler in the little box by the window, watching their every move. Now wasn't the time for show and tell. When she turned and looked at Raymond 'Red' Reddington again, she found he was still watching her attentively. His eyes had probably never strayed from her once and the way he observed her- almost serenely and like a man enthralled by the sight of her- it was starting to bug her.

"No, I'm not going to show you it," Liz decided, her voice low. "How about you tell me what you know instead?"

"No?" Raymond 'Red' Reddington laughed; a slow, smart-alec laugh that made her scar tingle. "Then unfortunately, I can't give you the information you want. This is how I operate; If I'm going to give you what you want and help you in any way I can to assist in the capture of Ranko Zamani, then you are going to have to give me what I want in return."

Liz took in a deep breath and let it all out again unsteadily. When she spoke, her voice was short and clipped, "What does showing you my scar have anything to do with any of this?"

A smile broke out on his face again- the same one as before; tight-lipped, genial - as his eyes darted back and forth between hers. Liz felt immediately more and more uneasy. The fact her scar was going crazy with its mild throbbing and dull tingling wasn't helping. "Oh, I think it has everything to do with it. If only you knew, Agent Keen..."

"Knew what?"

"How long it is that I have waited for you... Waiting for this precise moment to come. You... and me... here together, like this."

She ignored his comment with difficulty, clasping her hands together in her lap to stop all the fidgeting. His comment got her hot under her collar- and not in a way that was appropriate of a rookie. "Tell me about Zamani. Do it this second, otherwise I get up from this chair and walk out of this room, ending everything."

"You're married. You have a husband."

Liz stiffened and wondered how he knew such a personal thing about her. Has he been watching her without her knowledge? But then she caught a glimpse of her golden wedding band on her ring finger, and decided he knew only because of that. The man was observant. "Yes, I do," she answered shortly. "I'm a married woman."

"I see." Raymond Reddington's chin dipped slightly as he leaned forward in the chair. It was a constricted and small movement; He couldn't move much due to being chained. Liz saw that, and felt instantly empowered. Any minute now, she could decide where to take this. She controlled where their conversations took them. "And how is that working out for you? Does your husband know?"

"Know what? What should he know about?"

"About your scar and what it represents. About just how deep your level of indifference towards him goes."

Liz felt her mouth pop open, and she closed it back up hastily so she didn't appear too vulnerable or easy to read. She had no idea herself what her scar signified, and what it represented. Did this man know?

"I'm not indifferent towards my husband," she asserted weakly. "I... I love him very much."

"But there is something missing, isn't there? An absence that grows and grows every day?"

Yes, there was. But this had nothing to do about the reason why she was here. "Give me all the information you have, all of it. I don't want to talk about any of this- especially not with you." There was too many people watching and overhearing them. It wasn't the best time. "As I said, if you don't tell me this instance, I can just get up from this chair and walk out. You can't. You can't follow me. So give me all you have, and then maybe... I'll think of showing you my scar."

She saw the roll of his eyes, as if this was the boring part. He sucked in his cheeks. "Within the hour, Ranko Zamani will abduct the daughter of U.S General Daniel Rieger. There will be a diversion, communications will be scrambled... and then he'll grab the girl." Throughout the low-spoken timbre of his voice, Liz's scar itched. Without thought and a long habit developed since she was a girl, she rubbed around it with her fingers, realizing her gaze was stuck on his mouth as the words erupted from it. "He wants to be out of the country within thirty-six hours, so if you don't move quickly, she will die. And that is as far as I know."

Liz nodded as she swallowed dryly. "And how do you know this?" she asked him doubtfully. Surely a man couldn't have been that well-informed, without having an active part in the role.

"Because I'm the one that got him into the country."

Well, that explained everything. He did, in fact, know so much since he played a role in all of it. Still, she didn't know whether it was credible or just one big, fat lie. "And I'm supposed to believe you about all of this?"

He laughed again at her words; that same laugh that grated on her nerves. "Of course not. Criminals are notorious liars. Everything about me is a lie." His expression changed, into something sombre and sincere, as his eyes bore into her own. "But if anyone can give me a second chance, it's you. We have overcome so much, you and I... You, being abandoned by a father who was a career criminal, and your mother dying of weakness and shame..."

Liz felt all the blood being sucked out of her as she stared at him, the room spinning. He knew so much about her already- things she never dreamed anyone knowing about herself. All her deepest, darkest secrets she purposefully kept from everyone as a girl.

"Your father telling you that you got your scar in a fire, when it was so much more... Something far too complicated to explain and put adequately into words..." His lips turned upward as he shook his head slightly. "And yet, here you are, about to catch one of the biggest, most eluded criminals in the world, in Ranko Zamani." There was a pause, and then he went on, his voice quieter and filled with conviction, "I'm going to make you famous, Lizzie. You and I... we are going to make a great team. I have waited for this for many, many years. And now, here it is, the both of us finally together in one room. It feels like... the most blissful and surreal dream."

Liz avoided his gaze and peered around them. She couldn't believe what this man was telling her. What was this bullshit? How did he know so much? She was terrified by how much he knew about her, and all the things he was saying; As if they were going to come true in the future. She did the only thing she could handle and the one thing she threatened to do: She stood from the chair and turned to leave. She had gotten the information she wanted out of him, and she couldn't think of anything else to say. What could she say?

She was halfway towards the stairs when he called out to her. "Agent Keen? There is something else, while you're here."

There was an urgency in his voice that she couldn't and didn't want to ignore. She turned around and looked at him past her shoulder.

"Come closer, please. I seem to be in a patch of trouble."

It was against all protocol to approach a man who was being heavily guarded and probably was considered dangerous, but in that moment, she forgot. She turned back to him, stepping forward, until she was near.

"What is it? What else have you got for me?"

"If you wouldn't mind, could you come a bit closer? It's these handcuffs, you see. I can hardly move an inch, so you're going to have to come a little bit closer to me to hear what I have to say."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she moved closer to his chair until her knees were almost touching his. She caught no immediate threat, or sense of danger, until he moved his left hand.

Though his movements were constricted, he still had enough room to turn his wrist and manage to clasp her hand hard in his. He was playing her. He just wanted an excuse, it occurred to her belatedly. It was the hand her scar was on, and she gasped as she felt a stronger sensation radiating all the way up the raised, bumpy skin. Her throat tightened. It wasn't a feeling she felt with Tom whenever they held hands. She felt an odd sense of security and wholeness as his dry, warm hand cupped hers.

The feeling felt as if it wanted to consume her whole, setting the space between her ribs ablaze. Liz lifted her eyes and met the man's gaze, finding him watching her closely and carefully, assessing her reaction to a little personal contact. His mouth was parted as he appraised her as if she was a guinea pig in a lab experiment, his eyes alive with mirth, and she felt paralyzed from the head downwards.

She was instantly shocked back to her senses when the guards were shouting from around her and she wiggled her hand free from his grasp, smoothing it on her blouse.

"Everything is fine," she assured the shouting armed men around her breathlessly, trying to alleviate all the commotion. "He just wanted to shake my hand, that's all."

She would never be making the same mistake ever again.

* * *

**Hope this wasn't really bad? I want to thank you all so much for be so very kind, I'm literally terrified of writing on here at the moment! Really hope it isn't too ridiculous also :P**


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